Happy Ever After Read online

  Still, it had been a joy to watch Debbie and Melissa walking off together, and the fact that Debbie had issued the invitation off her own bat was the icing on the cake. There’d been nothing forced about their encounter. It had gone so smoothly, and the two sisters had no inkling that she and Barry had been in cahoots. For that alone, the get-together was a complete success.

  An interesting morning all in all, she thought, dying to get on the phone to Karen, her best friend and Barry’s sister. Karen had no time for Aimee, so perhaps she wouldn’t go so far as to say that Barry’s wife wanted to have a termination. She’d hate to be in Aimee’s position herself, and she certainly wasn’t going to make any judgement on the woman. What was it the Native Americans said? Walk a mile in my moccasins before you judge me. Aimee had enough on her plate to deal with, without a bitchy sister-in-law and ex-wife . . . even if she was a stuck-up, snooty cow.

  He supposed he should go home and have it out with Aimee. Barry almost groaned out loud at the thought. He just couldn’t face it. How he wished he hadn’t discovered she was pregnant this morning. It was true: ignorance was bliss! If she’d gone and had her abortion, he would be none the wiser and far happier for it.

  It would have been a perfect morning. Sitting sipping coffees with his daughters – and Connie had been lovely. The soothing balm of forgiveness had worked its magic, even though he’d never thought it would happen. He’d felt shriven, if that wasn’t too fanciful to imagine, and now he had this to deal with. Just when life seemed to have settled on a relatively even keel, he’d been dealt a body blow that was going to have a colossal impact on his life whatever route he and Aimee took.

  Life had suddenly become complicated again, he thought dejectedly. And even Connie had deserted him. She’d been quite firm about not getting involved or offering advice. He needed her as a friend right now; she didn’t seem to understand that. He certainly needed her much more than she needed him. How the tables had turned. And what was it with this guy – no, this sexy guy – she’d been going on about? When had he appeared on the scene, and who was he, Barry wondered petulantly.

  She definitely had a sparkle in her eyes. She looked terrific. Hardly any make-up. Her skin tanned, her hair windswept, she looked so . . . he searched for an adjective . . . wholesome, he decided. Wholesome and healthy and natural. Unlike Aimee, who would never set foot outside the door without her full armour of make-up and her immaculately coiffed hair. How disloyal was that, he thought, thoroughly disgruntled. What was he doing, comparing his wife and his ex-wife? Well, Aimee had certainly shown him no loyalty, either at the wedding, or by not telling him she was pregnant. She’d behaved as if she were a separate entity and not part of a marriage. She’d definitely not behaved like a loyal and loving wife – or even as someone who respected him. That was the worst thing of all.

  And where was that train of thought going to get him? Precisely nowhere. Barry stood up and shoved a five-euro note under a mug, tucked his paper under his arm and made his reluctant way home.

  Aimee froze when she heard the key in the lock. Mantled in tension since they’d left, twisting and turning restlessly in bed had left her headachy and exhausted. She needed to be sharp and on the ball. She needed to be able to argue her case to Barry. She needed to be herself and not this weepy, weak, wimpy person she didn’t recognize. Where was her confidence, her certainty and her focus? She hurried out of bed and raced for the shower. Bed was not the place to make her stand.

  The sharp, cold needles of water made her gasp before the heat came into it, but it was just what she needed to get her adrenalin flowing, and she rubbed herself vigorously with a shower mitt and body scrub until her flesh turned red from the friction.

  She held her face up to the water, letting its steaming fountain buffet her. By the time she was finished, she felt in control again. Ready to get her confrontation with Barry over and done with – because that was what it would be, she reckoned. She’d seen the look in his eyes and knew that they were in trouble.

  She dried herself, twisted a towel in a turban around her hair and slathered moisturizer over her limbs before wrapping a soft terry-towelling robe around her. She was tying the belt as she walked into their bedroom when she saw him standing, arms folded, by the French doors.

  ‘When were you going to tell me? Or were you going to tell me?’ His eyes were like flints, and hostility oozed from him like poison, taking her aback. She hadn’t expected him to be so full on in his attack.

  ‘Where’s Melissa?’ she asked sharply, not wanting their daughter to overhear them arguing.

  ‘She’s not here. She’ll be back later.’ Barry wasn’t going to get into explanations about meeting Debbie and Connie. ‘When were you going to tell me, Aimee, or have I any rights at all in this?’ he persisted angrily.

  Aimee took a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you, Barry. I was going to deal with it myself,’ she said coldly, ‘if it’s the truth you want.’

  ‘The truth would be good, Aimee. At least let’s have that between us, if there’s no loyalty, no respect, no consideration,’ he snarled.

  Aimee flinched. She’d never seen Barry so incensed.

  ‘I’ll give you the truth so, if that’s what you want, so listen carefully,’ she enunciated resolutely. ‘I don’t want another child. I don’t want my body out of control. I don’t want to be feeling sick and tired and in a few months’ time waddling around like an elephant—’

  ‘You wouldn’t be an elephant, you were very neat with Melissa,’ he cut in.

  ‘Whatever. I felt like an elephant. And here’s some more truth for you, Barry. I’ve just been offered a position as MD of my own events and catering company, with double the salary and a top-of-the-range car, and I’m not putting that in jeopardy for a pregnancy that I’ve absolutely no desire for.’ She glared at her husband defiantly.

  ‘You mean you’d put your career before our child?’ He was shocked, and bitterly disappointed in her.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Barry, don’t be so emotive. It’s only a tiny speck, no bigger than my thumb—’

  ‘It’s a baby, Aimee. Our baby! A little boy or a little girl, a brother or sister for Melissa, and we created it and, if you call that emotive, fine. But I want to keep the child. Be very clear about this. I do not want you to abort our baby, Aimee.’ He was ashen, his hands curled tightly by his side as he stared at his wife.

  ‘Stop, Barry, stop bullying me,’ she shouted. ‘Have I no say at all about what happens to my body, to my life? I can’t tell these people I’m pregnant – they might withdraw the job offer, and I’ve striven for this all my working life. I’m not good with children, I’m not maternal, you know that, and I’m not making any apologies for it. It’s what and who I am. It’s me. I had Melissa. I do my best with her, but she’s more than enough for me. Nothing’s going to change with this one. I just can’t do it.’

  ‘Aaww, Aimee,’ he groaned. ‘We’ll get a nanny. If you’re taking on this job with a whacking big salary, we’ll be well able to afford one.’

  ‘I don’t want a nanny,’ she wailed. ‘I don’t want to be spending half my salary on childcare. With this money we could buy a lovely house in Dalkey or Killiney. We could consider a place in Spain or Portugal. Buy on a golf course, so you could play golf,’ she pleaded, feeling everything slipping from her control.

  ‘And what will you tell Melissa?’ Barry demanded.

  ‘I’ll tell her I had a miscarriage. They happen all the time. You told me Connie had one,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Yes. She had a miscarriage, and don’t dare even put yourself in the same sort of position as Connie was in. She grieved that child. She knew what she’d lost. A baby, not a speck the size of whatever you want to compare it to. So you’re a hypocrite as well as everything else,’ he spat.

  ‘Why, what do you want me to tell her? That I went for an abortion? Is that what you want?’ She was red-faced with frustration.

  ‘I want you to keep
the baby, that’s what I want, Aimee,’ he shouted.

  ‘And if I don’t?’ she challenged.

  ‘I don’t want to stay married to you!’ he muttered.

  ‘So you’re blackmailing me,’ she said in disgust.

  ‘No. It’s up to you, Aimee. You decide.’

  ‘But if I feel I have to keep it, I’ll hate you, Barry. Our relationship will change completely.’

  ‘It’s changed anyway. You know that as well as I do and, as regards you hating me, that’s a risk I’m prepared to take. I want this child not only for us, I want it for Melissa. I want her to have family to turn to in times of trouble. It’s not all about you and me and our needs.’

  ‘If you make me have this baby, I’ll be the one who won’t want to stay married to you,’ she threatened.

  ‘Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ he said implacably. ‘It’s my baby, too, Aimee.’

  ‘I hate you already,’ she exploded. ‘I hate you for not understanding, I hate you for putting everyone else before me, and I hate you for bullying me with threats of leaving. I’ll have this baby if it’s so important to you, but we’re finished, Barry. I’ll never forgive you for turning your back on me in my hour of need. Once it’s born, I’m going to get a place of my own, and you can do what you like with it.’ She turned away from him and walked back into the ensuite, leaving him shaken to his core.

  Barry watched his wife walk away from him and knew things would never be the same between them again. If he hadn’t found out she was pregnant, she would have gone behind his back and got rid of their child, and he would have been none the wiser. She’d admitted it, and hadn’t been the slightest bit apologetic. His feelings or emotions or rights to be a father again would not have entered the equation. He would have been a passive bystander in his own marriage, and she would have walked all over him. God, she was as hard as nails. She’d more or less admitted her career was more important than her child’s life, and then she’d tried to bribe him with offers of a pad on a golf course abroad.

  There was still nothing to stop her going ahead and having the abortion. He couldn’t stop her or police her movements. She travelled abroad a lot for work; there was nothing to stop her booking into a clinic in the UK and pretending she was off at a trade fair. Little short of accompanying her every second, he had no guarantees that their child would be kept.

  Tears sprang to his eyes. What a horrible, horrible mess to be in. He understood a little of how she was feeling, particularly with this big new career opportunity, but a child’s life was much more important than a mere job. Life was such a cruel lottery sometimes, he thought dejectedly, brushing the tears from his face. Connie would have loved another baby. She’d been devastated when she’d lost their second child. He knew women in their social circle who were going through the crucifixion of IVF. And here was his wife, loathing the idea of pregnancy and having another child. Not only did she loathe the idea of a new baby, she loathed him. There’d been no mistaking her antipathy when she’d told him she hated him.

  He’d have to do his best to protect Melissa from the fallout of what was to come. What a contrast his life was compared to his ex-wife’s. She was looking forward to a relaxing holiday and a life of relative freedom, and here he was feeling every second of his middle age, with burdens so heavy to bear he didn’t know if he could carry them. A headache pounded his temples. He walked out of the bedroom, picked his car keys up from the hall table and left the apartment. He didn’t want to be in the same space as Aimee right now. He wanted to go to Connie and tell her all that had unfolded, but she’d made it clear she wasn’t getting involved. It looked like he was completely on his own.

  Aimee was shaking. She sat on the side of the bath and took a few deep breaths, trying to quell the nausea that engulfed her. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweaty, and she felt faint.

  The die was cast now, she thought forlornly. There was no going back. Her marriage was over, she was going to have to endure a loathsome pregnancy and her job offer would probably go down the tubes. She couldn’t have the termination now. She just couldn’t go through with it knowing the level of his opposition. Even she wasn’t that hard. Barry would hold it over her for the rest of her life, and that would be unendurable. She couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t tell Melissa when she was older. Or even Saint Connie, she thought bitterly. Well, Saint Connie could take him back with open arms, and the baby too, because if he was insisting she go through with it, he was going to have to take the consequences of his decision. Barry Adams was not going to make a fool out of her and leave her minding the baby while he swanned off playing golf. He wasn’t going to get off scot free when the child was sick and time had to be taken off work. And he could do the crèche and, later, the school run. She’d done all that, and she wasn’t going to do it again. If he wanted this baby so badly, he could have it and all that it entailed, she thought fiercely. Because there was one thing she was definitely sure of: when this baby was born, Barry was on his own with it. And no man would ever, ever have control over her life again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ken Davenport hurried to his parking space in the Blackrock Clinic. His rounds in three private hospitals had taken longer than he’d anticipated, and he had a game of golf booked for eleven. He was hungry, and he was looking forward to his breakfast. He allowed himself a cooked breakfast once a week, bacon and sausages grilled rather than fried. He was, after all, a heart surgeon; he knew the dangers of clogged arteries.

  He sat back into the soft black leather seat of his Merc and dialled home. It was his custom to phone Juliet when he was leaving Blackrock to tell her he was on his way, so she could start cooking. To his surprise, the phone rang out and went to the answering machine.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said loudly. ‘And I’ve a game of golf booked for eleven. Could you put out a polo shirt, a pullover and my cream trousers? Thank you.’ He hated talking to bloody machines. Why hadn’t Juliet answered? How long was she going to keep up this bloody nonsense and stay in a huff with him? She hadn’t even put out his cup and saucer and a plate for his croissant the night before. He always ate something light before rounds on Saturday, knowing he was going to have a substantial breakfast when he got home. The traffic lights were against him, and he tapped his fingers impatiently against the wheel. His stomach rumbled. He hoped his wife had heard the message, he was absolutely starving. The lights turned green and he scorched out of the Blackrock Clinic and headed for Ballsbridge.

  ‘So you’re on your way and you’ve a game of golf booked, bully for you.’ Juliet Davenport’s nostrils flared as she listened to her husband’s message.

  She’d recognized his number on the caller ID and had let the answering machine take it. Ken had some nerve, expecting that she would cook him breakfast after the way he’d behaved the night before. And, even worse, expecting that she’d put his clothes out for him. She sighed as she turned over and pulled the duvet up to her shoulders. He expected it because she’d done it for him for more years than she cared to remember. The little wifely doormat. It was her own fault that he treated her like a servant sometimes. But the day of reckoning had come. Worms turned. He was going to find that out sooner than he thought.

  What a rare treat it was to have a lie-in on a Saturday, she reflected, snuggling down with the latest Cathy Kelly novel, which she was thoroughly enjoying. Her book-club reading list was heavy going this month, and Juliet wasn’t in the humour for any of the worthy titles suggested. She wanted a good, meaty book she could get her teeth into, not something she had to plough through, and Past Secrets fitted the bill perfectly. She was deeply engrossed when she heard her husband’s car crunch over the gravelled drive.

  The lord and master was home. She heard his key in the door, and heard him stride briskly to the kitchen. She could imagine him sniffing the air, wondering why he wasn’t smelling the enticing aroma of sizzling bacon and sausage.

  Ha ha! she thought nastily as sh
e heard him thunder up the stairs.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Why are you still in bed? Are you sick?’ he demanded as he barged into their bedroom.

  ‘No,’ she said snootily, putting her book down momentarily.

  ‘Where’s my breakfast then?’ He stared at her flabbergasted.

  ‘Get it yourself. I’m not your servant. I’m having a day off,’ Juliet said coldly, and picked up her book.

  ‘Well . . . well . . . what am I going to have to eat? I’ve a game of golf at eleven. I need something substantial.’ He was aghast.

  ‘Do I look like someone who gives a toss?’ Juliet retorted, and turned her back on him and resumed reading her page-turner. She knew he was apoplectic with fury and it gave her immense satisfaction.

  ‘I’m disgusted with your behaviour,’ he said icily.

  And she couldn’t help herself. Juliet started to laugh. She saw the look of outrage on his face.

  ‘Oh, listen to yourself, Ken. Don’t be so pompous. I’m not one of your poor unfortunate underlings. I’ve seen the skidmarks on your underpants, remember?’ She turned to face him.

  ‘What’s got into you? That’s appalling, Juliet, you should be ashamed of yourself.’ He was slack-jawed with shock.

  You’ll be a hell of a lot more appalled when you find out I’ve booked myself on a flight to Spain on Wednesday and you’re going to have to cook for yourself, she thought, feeling hugely liberated as he turned on his heel and marched downstairs.

  She could hear press doors slamming and the clatter of a frying pan. Why didn’t I do this years ago, she wondered, tuning him out, and carried on reading.